In the foreword to ‘Maha Prastavana’ by the famous Telegu
poet Sri Sri, the famous Telegu humourist Chilam had said that Krishna Shastri
is a poet who gives all his pains to the world, and Sri Sri makes the sorrows of
the world his concern. And, the same was the view of Krishan Chander about
Kaifi: ‘Only a person … whose heart contains the sorrows of the world is capable
of such poetry.’

I, and people like me, have known Kaifi since 1943 or around
that time. What Kaifi used to do prior to that, what he used to write, I am not
aware about; and even if I were aware that would not have made much difference
as whatever Kaifi is today, that Kaifi was ‘born’ in Bombay [where the
headquarters of the Communist Party of India was located after 1942], where he
came from Kanpur, around 1943.

It is difficult to say whether Banne Bhai (Sajjad Zaheer,
[who played a leading role in organizing the Progressive Writers’ Association])
searched out Kaifi or whether Kaifi discovered Banne Bhai; it appears that both
were in search of each other from the very beginning, and courtesy Qaumi Jang,
[People’s War’, weekly organ of the Communist Party of India during the people’s
war period], the two were discovered and brought together.

Perhaps Kaifi, while he was living in Kanpur, happened to see
an issue of Qaumi Jang. The beauty of Qaumi Jang was that even
those who politically differed with CPI were appreciative of Qaumi Jang
because of its high journalistic standard and honest content. Kaifi also
belonged to this vast group.

So Kaifi sent one of his poems to Qaumi Jang although
he was not very hopeful that it would be published, and was very happy to see it
published in the journal. Naturally Kaifi felt very happy, but Banne Bhai felt
happier, as he had found the talented young person for whom he had been
searching.

And then Kaifi landed in Bombay, and got closely associated
with the CPI and Qaumi Jang.

Now there came about a qualitative change in Kaifi. He was no
longer the romantic poet of yesteryears. But love and romantic accent is there
in his poetry. In Bombay, Kaifi started living with the workers, and used to
recite his poetry to them. He used to listen to their problems, write in
Qaumi Jang and sell Qaumi Jang on the streets of Bombay.

Two collections of poetry pertaining to this period –
Jhankar [‘Clinking’] and Akhir Shab [‘The Ultimate Night’] – were
published subsequently. The third collection, Awara Sijde [‘Wayward
Supplications’] came much later, and Kaifi was also awarded a prize by the
Sahitya Academy for this third collection.

The Kaifi of Jhankar and Akhir Shab was
criticized for indulging in propaganda for the Communist Party (and this charge
was leveled against all progressive cultural workers). It was said that their
poetry is temporary, earns applause from the workers, arouses the passions of
the people in public meetings, and that is all. It is not for enjoying at
leisure.

‘Progressive literature is propaganda’. Okay, so what? And
today great critics have accepted that propaganda if appropriate can belong to
the classic literature, and that is the greatness of Krishan Chander who took
propaganda to the level of literature and even noted critics had to accept that.

Kaifi has indulged in propaganda in several poems of
Jhankar and Akhir Shab. He has dealt with issues that are of highly
temporary nature, whereas the values of literature are ‘eternal’, so that people
read it for centuries.

The edition of Akhir Shab published from Karachi in
August 1977, contains a reply to this observation. Here below is reproduced a
passage from the foreword wherein Ilya Ehrenberg was quoted:

‘It is not compulsory for a writer to only produce such
literature as is for the future centuries; he should also have the ability to
produce literature which is only for the fleeting moment – provided that during
that fleeting moment the fate of the nation is being decided.’

Now ponder over this. In August 1944, Gandhi and Jinnah were
to meet. The country was fed up with colonial bondage, and was demanding such a
step as would break the shackles; but that would be possible only if the
Congress and Muslim League unite, else disappointment would engulf the people.
There the Nazis faced humiliation at Stalingrad and now the Red army is on the
offensive. The possibility of a world free of fascism is beginning to be seen.
Democracy and independence are about to be ushered in, but here in India there
is hopelessness. Against this backdrop there is the reinvigorating news of the
meeting between Jinnah and Gandhi. At that ‘moment’ Kaifi says:

[One river was aflame in the lap of the night
The intensity of remembrance evaporates
This side, the so-called leaders are going to put their heads together
And that side the whirlwinds are gasping for breath
The wave is getting crushed under the boat]

[This dialogue is not a dialogue: it is the stage of making or spoiling
The heart of the environment is beating fast for it is the question of life
How long shall remain this enveloping darkness, how long this mammoth sadness
How long shall this wretched system survive taking cover under discord and
unconcern
How long shall Indians remain prisoners, how long shall Bharat remain
subjugated
Rise with such a force that the chain around your neck falls on your feet]

[‘New Designs’]

That was also a ‘moment’ when the Congress and Muslim League
leaders were having a dialogue with Lord Wavell. Both were in the spirit of
‘surrender’ as if both had ‘faith’ in Wavell. Against this ‘surrender’ Kaifi
protests that very ‘moment’:

[Okay the warriors of Chittagong were sinners
Okay the brave of Punjab and Bengal were wrongdoers
Bhagat Singh was at fault, okay he was at fault
The sons of Kapoor were treacherous, okay they were treacherous
But at least sometime listen to the complaints of injustice from Mopla
At least listen to the prayers of the 1942 martyrs]

Here are those important ‘moments’ that do not recur in the
lives of the nations, and on such occasions, the heartbeat of the poet becomes
the echo of the heartbeats of the people, and revolution starts flowing out of
the pen of the poet, which produces a literature that may not be considered as
great literature by some critics but that becomes engraved in the hearts of the
people and the history of revolutions. The poetry of Kaifi from that period is
such a literature.

The Maharani of Travancore, her Chief Minister, the great
loyalist and toady of the British C. P. Ramaswamy Iyer, have started playing
Holi with the blood of the freedom fighters. This makes Kaifi restless. He also
joins those freedom fighters drenched in blood and says:

[These kings, these well-wishers of the British
These are the guards for the British in India
Where the dacoits have found shelter
Bring down that wall, that door
Keep flying high the flag of revolt]

In Telangana, the toiling people had revolted against the
faithful of the British. Makhdoom Moiuddin said: ‘Chamak rahi hai daranti,
uchhal rahi hai kudal’ [The sickle is flashing, the spade is restless]. Along
with Makhdoom, Kaifi is also to be found somewhere there in the jungles and the
hills of Telangana, and says he:

[This pseudo-life, this glamour, has become a burden on existence
Poor mankind accustomed to suffering is now fed up with tyranny
The earth is ready to swallow every cantonment today
Now that its hunger has awakened]

Remember the turbulent days of 1945. On one side, the workers
and the farmers were restless for independence. The waves of freedom are raging
in the whole oppressed world. On the other hand, the differences between the
Congress and the Muslim League are taking the form of Hindu-Muslim tension. The
leaders are imprisoned in their own boundaries. Kaifi begins on this note:

[All signs of subjugation are there
Here are the signs of civil war
Still there are some remnants of life
However our hands do not reach to the shackles
They swirl within their limits
They do not join together and become a whirlwind]

It is not that India is short of ‘ammunition’ for gaining
independence. It is the dearth of courage amongst the leaders. What shall the
people do in that case? Listen to Kaifi:

[Tipu has the sword also with him
but, there is also the chain around the neck
One cannot see these sights any longer
The caravan will now march forward on its own
If the leaders are not able to find the way]

The gallant fighters of the Indian National Army are being
tried. Rasheed, Sehgal and Shahnawaz are the ideals of the young. The protest
against the injustice of the British is on one side, and on the other side,
there is a ‘mercy petition’ to condone the death sentence. Listen to Kaifi:

[It is injustice, but not a new one
How many Rasheeds this very chain binds
Those whose names we hardly remember
Thank God that Sehgal has returned from the gallows
But how many Sehgals were hanged on these very gallows
Every drop of blood is Shahnawaz
Gradually, whom even our countrymen have forgotten
I don’t know how long we will be praying for mercy
How long shall there be cautious denouncing of the constitution
How long shall there be loud protests on each name
How long there will be revolt in instalments in this way]

It is hardly surprising that the traditionalist mind gets
alerted at the terminology of ‘biliqsat baghawat’ [revolt in instalments]. In
the struggle for freedom, this is what bourgeois reformism did: it divided the
‘revolt’ in so many instalments that the revolutionaries lost their lives but
the revolution could not be made.

In that period, Kaifi gave the call in his poem ‘Akhri
Marhala’ [The Last Obstacle]:

[Right now the flags are not going to fly, nor is there going to be war
As the country is agitated but not united
The blood of the martyrs calls from the sky
That the knot cannot be undone with one hand
This confusion, this movement, this gulf between different groupings
The enemies of our determination to fight make fun
Why this disappointment? Why this desire for suicide
The heartbeat of the people is the harbinger of victory]

[‘The Last Obstacle’]

These are the initial days of 1945. The scenario of the
Second World War is rapidly changing. The draconian dictator who used to dream
of sipping tea in Leningrad is now restless in his home. The Red Army is
advancing towards Berlin; and ultimately, the red flag started flying over
Berlin in May 1945. In such a ‘moment’ of epochal import, Kaifi says:

[The night is over: the message of the morning of happiness has come
The sun of Moscow is shining on the horizon
Those who detested knowledge, literature and art
They now stand defeated after having had an encounter with life
This is the celebration of Eve, and this is the Eid of Adam
This is the heroic work of Russia, but it is the triumph of mankind]

[‘Victory over Berlin’]

Recall those horrifying days of 1946 and 1947 when the fire
of Hindu Muslim riots was blazing. Those very people who had participated in the
joint struggle of Khilafat and boycott led by Gandhiji and the Ali brothers (Maulana
Mohammad Ali and Shaukat Ali), when the elevating scenes of Hindu Muslim unity
were common, were playing Holi with each other’s blood. The ‘Direct Action’ of
the Muslim League was ‘clashing’ with the ‘slogan of freedom’ of the Congress.
The riots of Noakhali in Bengal and Bihar had shaken the country, and on the
other side the workers, the peasants and the common people wanted to move, and
were moving, to the new destinations of freedom. This was the ‘moment’ when
Kaifi wrote his famous ‘Khana Jangi’ [Civil war]. Real national facts were
presented in the traditional dress of Mathnawi. If today Meer Hasan and
Daya Shankar Naseem were there then, this ‘moment’, they would also have done
the same, because today their ‘Badar Muneer’ drenched in blood was the victim of
her own countrymen. This poem of Kaifi is very long, and he used to take 40 to
45 minutes to recite this. But when Kaifi used to recite it to the common
people, the working people, then they used to get completely engrossed because
it is the story of murder of their yearnings and non-fulfilment of their
desires. Kaifi says :

[Ever since the [Cabinet] Mission has departed
The ways of life have gone awry
...
See the rows and rows of houses that have been vacated
The riot is not there in the nature of religious edicts
Dacoity is not part of the crusade]
…]

Rast iqdam khoon mein doob gaya
Aaj Islam khoon mein doob gaya

[The Direct Action is drenched in blood
Today Islam is drenched in blood]

[O spring, give some solace to them
The sisters cry for their brothers
What to say of your spirituality
You have sucked the blood of children
There is blood on religion, on faith
Blood on the Vedas, blood on the Quran
The corpse of the brave Tipu
The corpse of a spiritual leader like Nanak
The corpse of Swaraj, of Khilafat
The corpse of every struggle of every revolt
So this is the corpse of Mohammad Ali
So this is the corpse of the brave like Tilak
So this is the corpse of the young Bhagat Singh
So this is the corpse of the peasant from Mopla
…
This is the corpse of united India]

But Kaifi is not content with showing just one scene in his
Mathnawi. He is conscious of those efforts of workers and peasants that were
still prominent as sparks and were about to burst out. Someone has to blow air
and then see.

Ab yeh toofan badhta jaye ga
Ab yeh sailab chadhta jaye ga

[Now this whirlwind will keep advancing
Now this flood will keep rising]

The third collection of Kaifi Awara Sijde is
indicative of a qualitative change, where the romanticism of Kaifi adopts the
new dimension of revolutionary realism and humanism. At this juncture sincerity
blossoms further by the maturity of art. Kaifi has himself said that the
‘process of creation’ of the poet is the sub-conscious part of this very
(people’s revolutionary) struggle. And the poet is transformed completely while
living these. ‘One objective of poetry is also to shape the personality’. Moving
from Jhankar to Aakhir Shab, Kaifi got transformed, and then
became the consummate poet of Awara Sijde, yet a poet who is still
evolving. If the difference felt in the poetry of Awara Sijde and
Aakhir Shab and Jhankar, represents the poetic evolution of Kaifi on
one side, then it is also the masterly expression of the great difference
between the times of these compositions. The change in situation is inevitable
with the passage of time, and this is liable to influence literature, and this
is the feeling one gets on reading Aakhir Shab and most of the poems of
Awara Sijde. Even then when Kaifi says that

[Sometime forward, sometime backward, what is this
We shall have to change the style of walk
Life is not going to prepare the mould for the mind
The mind shall have to shape itself according to every mould]

[‘Invitation’]

Then it is clearly apparent that he is severely perturbed by
the bitter reality of traversing forward backward on zigzag paths. And he saw
that the same communist movement, which had taught him the lessons of struggle,
which had taught him to sing the songs full of life in favour of revolutionary
forces, was becoming a victim of disunity and disintegration. The agony that he
then felt is somewhat represented by his poem ‘Awara Sajde’.

[You are my beloved, and you are my wellwisher
You also do not have acquaintance with me, and you also do not
The benevolence, the beneficence stops at you
But you are not aware about the pains in my heart, and you are also not
Those who have paved your way in every period
Those very bowings are becoming wayward today]

But Kaifi had not lost hope of a revolution and a bright
future; and this is the point from which his poetic compositions take off. At
times in the face of the offensives of the environment, Kaifi is also to be
found in this mood:

[We are those travelers who are aware about the destination
With our feet on the thorns, we keep our sights on the flowers
For how many nights we have kept awake
We laid the foundations of the morning on the grave of the night
O, god of darkness, extinguisher of candles]

[‘Guard’]

On January 26, 1974, on the occasion of the Republic Day
celebrations, Kaifi also lit lamps, but the matter was like this:

[The wife called from a distance in an irritated tone
Oil is expensive, and also difficult to procure
Why have you lit so many lamps
And then came a gust of the wind of anger
All lamps were blown out
But, yes, there is one lamp, called hope
Which keeps on burning, shining]

And the other name of this candle of hope is Kaifi.

In my opinion, the best poem of Awara Sijde from every
viewpoint – that of art and content – is ‘Ibn-e-Maryam’ [The son of Mary]. Kaifi
sees a statue of Jesus Christ by the roadside and he sees Christ as a symbol – a
symbol of sacrifice, sacrifice for faith and for the people. Here Kaifi also
makes an implicit reference to the lesson of the Bhagwad Gita, which says
that whenever mankind is engulfed by evil, then God himself would be born for
the emancipation of mankind. Kaifi sees the crucifixion of Jesus Christ in this
light.

[For God’s sake you go away from here
Go to those jungles of Vietnam
Its crucified cities and wounded villages
The readers of the Bible have
Trampled upon these
One knows not for how long they have been crying out for you
Go, once again for our sake
You will have to suffer crucifixion]

Kaifi has also written ghazals, and these ghazals also have
the confluence of romantic tradition, contemporary realities and enlivening
struggles of life. Now see these couplets of a Ghazal.

[The people have got fed up with my obsession for idolatry
It is said that the houses of idols are being closed
The place from which last time one returned thirsty
It is just there that one’s friends have broken the goblets]

[The gods of stone were found there also
We returned from the moon today
Where there is celebration of health-recovery of the earth
Each heart shall bring as much blood as it has
After wandering in the deserts, returned to the camp
Again returned thirsty to the Euphrates]

[Today the fragile windows of your house will be shattered
Today again that madman was spotted in the city
It is a crime to return with a bowed head from your lane
It is a sin to be afraid of stone-throwing in your city]

[I am not able to find the world that I am searching for
A new earth, a new sky is not to be found
Even if I were to find a new earth and a new sky
No trace of the new human being is to be found
That sword has been found with which I was murdered
However no fingerprints are to be found on that]

Kaifi has loved and also written poetry of love. For a
whole-timer revolutionary, the very thought of marriage creates new
complications. If there were to be a collision between family life and public
life, then what would happen? If the life partner were to look towards the life
struggle in an inappropriate manner then what would happen? There is nothing
surprising if such questions raise their heads in the mind of a young activist
of a young political party; and if an immature mind thinks in a child-like
manner. When Sahir said:

[So will you enliven me, embrace me
The flower that has fallen from your hair, you will lift it urgently
You will save my hearth from the rising flames and lightening thunder
You will smile and hide me in the shadows of your long hair
That you are testing me until today
What is this dream that you are showing me
There is no price of love: if there were, would you have paid
You might make thousand determinations of love, but the world shall give you
no time for love
Let me live with sorrows, how long shall you provide me support
Do not tickle my obsession so much; what will you do if I were to hold on to
your lap
You are coming closer and closer to me
What is this dream that you are showing me]

[‘Imaginings’]

How pious is the love of these poets? When Makhdoom makes
love then also he feels happy to see this scene, as this is not the sin
committed in the darkness of night.

[Or the bells of the temples are ringing in the evening
Or the sound of Azan comes from far away at dawn
…
O son of Mary start humming
O soul of song keep singing]

Kaifi fell ill seriously. He suffered a paralysis attack
also. There is nothing surprising if, in such a situation, an ordinary human
being feels disappointed and dejected, and becomes unconcerned towards life. But
Kaifi is of a different mettle. The candle of ‘hope’ always keeps burning in his
case. And no strong wind has been able to blow it out till date. He says:

[Night that had come with the message of death
My wife and children
Threw it away from the window
And the glass of poison that it had brought
That it drank itself
When the morning went into the sea to have a bath
It found the corpse of night in water]

[‘Life’]

Here wife is the symbol of those high values that are the
capital of Kaifi’s life and his life partner. And the children are the symbol of
future. The window is ‘hope’ and if ‘night’ is disease, then morning is the
foreboding of ‘wellbeing’.

This is Kaifi and his poetry. Here is that ‘traveller’ who
knows about the ‘destination’ and has the guts to found the morning on the
‘grave of the night’. Kaifi holds aloft the candle of revolutionary poetry and
is a reality that walks in the caravan of progressives.

(This article was written before Kaifi Azmi’s death. Following the passing
away of the poet it was reproduced in the Urdu monthly Hayat in June 2002. The
text, including the extracts from Kaifi Azmi’s poetry quoted in it, has been
translated from the original in Urdu by Hasan Abdullah for Revolutionary
Democracy. Insertions by the translator are in square parentheses/)